The Most Perfect Shade of Fiery Red Hair
by whenfireanddarknesscollide
Summary: Soulmate bonds are formed when soulmates make skin-to-skin contact for the first time. Today's customs are formed around the possible chance of bonding with your soulmate; it's why we shake hands as a greeting upon meeting new people, and why some other countries greet with a kiss or two on the cheeks. Soulmate!AU. Written for the QLFC Season 4, Round 13: Holyhead Harpies, Keeper.


A skinny, young girl slowly opens our compartment door, carefully observing our group as she timidly steps in.

Draco abruptly sits up from where he has been laying with his head in Pansy's lap, eyes flashing as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He stares at the girl, contempt and suspicion clear in his eyes.

I sigh. "Draco, that's enough," I chastise. "It's fine. Relax." As usual, it's his PTSD taking control again, causing him to be overly wary of the tiniest things.

I watch as the look of raw suspicion slowly fades from his eyes, and wait until it's completely gone before turning to look at the girl.

She meets my eyes and turns crimson, dipping her head and breaking eye contact as she holds out a single roll of parchment, tied with a thick purple ribbon.

"I'm supposed to deliver this to Blaise Z-Zabini," she stutters, still staring at the ground, not daring to meet my eyes. I don't know what she sees in them that intimidates her so, but I take the scroll from her hand and she scrambles out of the compartment, nearly tripping over the doorframe in her haste.

"What's that?" Draco asks, having lain back down and allowing Pansy to continue stroking his hair.

I untie the string and unfurl the scroll, frowning in confusion as I feel the thick, crisp parchment under my fingers. It's likely extremely expensive, of a sort usually only bought by us Slytherin purebloods with generations of wealth accumulated in the highest security vaults of Gringotts. This type of parchment is only used in extremely formal situations, as a sign of formality and respect.

I have no idea why it would be required aboard an old school train.

 _Blaise,_

 _I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in Compartment C._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Professor H. E. F. Slughorn  
_

"It's a letter from one Professor Slughorn," I tell Draco, noting the recognition spreading across his face. We all know who Slughorn is; he'd taught at Hogwarts during our parents' time. I heard from Draco's father that he would be teaching at school this year; however, I have no idea what he would be doing on the train.

"What does he want?" Draco asks, curious.

"He wants me to join him for lunch in Compartment C," I reply.

"What does he want you for?"

"Dunno. Suppose I'll have to go," I reply.

"Father always said that he picked favorites," Draco drawls. "If you can get into his group of favorites now, it'll probably help you a lot later in the year."

"I'll keep that in mind," I say, and walk out, heading towards Compartment C.

* * *

Upon arriving at the compartment, my suspicions are proven correct: I am not the only one Slughorn has invited.

"Blaise, m'boy! It's so nice to see you again!" Slughorn's voice booms. "Sit, sit!"

I merely nod and take a seat as instructed, on the right side of the compartment, directly across from the Weasley girl. I've heard of her, of course, but I've never come face to face with her; we don't see each other much because we're not in the same year.

Apparently, Slughorn caught her hexing an annoying Hufflepuff, but instead of giving her detention, he invited her to lunch because he'd thought her hex was "utterly spectacular".

After waiting in uncomfortable silence, people finally begin to file in. The compartment fills with people, ending with the arrival of Potter and Longbottom. I frown. Longbottom? I can understand why Slughorn would invite Potter; he is the Chosen One, after all, but Longbottom? The only thing special about him is his spectacularly uncanny ability to botch spells and blow up potions.

Slughorn offers us all food and we all accept out of politeness, as he talks about each of us and asks us questions.

He talks about me, and apparently I was invited because of my mother. She's married seven men, one of whom was my father, each dying mysteriously after the other and leaving her great heaps of gold. I didn't figure out what she was doing until I was ten, when I stumbled upon her brewing a bottle of what I knew to be Disalgmortia in her bedroom. I'd read enough books on Dark Magic to know that Disalgmortia was extremely rare, hard to brew, and not many people knew about it. It was odorless, colorless, and completely untraceable. One drop in a person's drink was enough to enhance an existing medical condition in the victim's body, causing death that would appear, under any type of testing, of natural causes.

I'd never told anyone about what I'd discovered, knowing that it'd get my mother thrown in Azkaban, or possibly sentenced to the death row.

I jerk out of my memories when Slughorn booms, "Harry Potter!" and continues talking about the "Chosen One". When he begins going on about how Potter has "powers beyond the ordinary", I can't help but cough a little in scorn and skepticism.

Immediately, I hear a furious voice burst out from the other half of the compartment. "Yeah, Zabini, because you're so talented... at posing…."

I peek around Slughorn's rather large middle section and find myself staring into the eyes of none other than Ginny Weasley.

Feisty, I think to myself, smirking.

Slughorn informs me that Ginny is capable of performing "the most marvelous Bat-Bogey Hex" and warns me not to cross her. I merely fill my expression with contempt and remain silent.

Slughorn continues rambling, and I'm lost in my own thoughts as the afternoon slowly passes by, until it's nearly twilight, the last rays of the sun filtering in red through the windows.

Slughorn seems to have forgotten about the time, and he hurriedly shoos all of us out of his compartment, leaving along with the rest of us. I wait for the people who are seated closer to the door to file out before standing, and now it's only the Weasley girl and I left in the compartment. She pushes ahead of me without even a glance in my direction, and I reach out to place a hand on her arm, catching her before she can fully make it out the door.

I see her glance up at me from over her shoulder, barely masked annoyance and scorn clear in the sharp features of her face. She reaches up to bat my hand off her arm, but when her slim fingers touch my hand, a shock jolts through me so strong that I let go of her and stumble backward, nearly crashing into the wall of the empty compartment.

I barely manage to catch myself in time, and I brace myself against the wall as I glance up in disbelief. She's looking at me, complete and utter shock mirrored on her face. We're both frozen in place, seemingly unable to move in our surprise.

"Soulmates," she whispers, as if awed, and promptly turns and flees the compartment. I watch her red hair flare up behind her as she rushes to catch up with Potter and Weasley, who I see talking together up ahead along the corridor lit with fiery lamps that line the train walls.

I rush after her, a barrage of thoughts rushing through my head as I push through groups of students, intent on catching the streak of vivid copper hair that I can just barely see over the top of the crowd, paired with another head of unruly jet black hair and one of short, messy red curls.

I do manage to catch up to her, but I when she spots me, she throws a look at me that clearly says _Not now, later._

I nod, nearly imperceptibly, and pretend to not have noticed her as I continue along the corridor, now heading for the Slytherin compartment.

I glare at Potter as he walks behind me, following me down the length of the train corridor. He glares back at me, and I can hear my soulmate's voice behind me. I can barely resist the unfamiliar urge to yell at Potter to get his hands away from her, to leave her alone; she's mine!

Gritting my teeth, I fight against the new instincts my body seems to have developed, and tune everything else out as I walk past compartments and compartments full of people. It's not until I reach my own that I realize that I'm alone, and that I've long left the trio of Gryffindors behind.

However, I can still sense a presence; this is mostly likely why I didn't realize that everyone had left, I reason. But for some reason, I can't shake the unnerving feeling that I'm being watched.

I try to slide the compartment door open, but Draco has locked it, so I rap on the glass. Draco looks up, startled by the noise, again. Thankfully, he seems calmed by the sight of me, so he unlocks the door and lets me in. I walk in and turn to close the door behind me, but it seems stuck in one place, and I'm unable to shut it.

Frustrated, I say angrily, "What's wrong with this thing?" and continue attempting to close the door.

The door suddenly slides open all the way, hard, and I'm flung sideways straight onto Greg's lap. Annoyed and confused, I snap at Greg, but my heart isn't in it; instead, I'm watching Draco. His eyes are those of a frightened animal; he's staring at an empty point in space, seemingly mesmerized.

I clamber off Greg's lap, rather hastily, and Greg stands to slam the door shut; it slides closed without a hitch this time, causing me to narrow my eyes in suspicion. I nearly open my mouth to say something about it, but one look at Draco causes the words to die in my throat. He's extremely wary, but I can also see that calculating glint in his eyes he gets when he's trying to form a devious plan, and I know better than to mess everything up by voicing my suspicions.

I sink deep into thought. Ginny Weasley. Youngest member of the Weasley family, the only female child, and completely, truly Gryffindor. I know her family hates all Slytherins, labeling us as evil and not to be trusted. These incorrect ideas instilled upon them since childhood are what has brought them down to become just as bad as we are thought to be. They say that the Dark Lord is discriminating against people of Muggle descent, but they're just as bad by using a person's House as their segregator.

Why would she be my soulmate? Every witch or wizard has a soulmate somewhere in the world, a person they are destined to be with. Finding a soulmate this young is rather rare; most people bond years later, when they've had a chance to meet more people and travel the world. Soulmate bonds are formed when soulmates make skin-to-skin contact for the first time. Today's customs are all formed around the possible chance of bonding with your soulmate; it's why we shake hands as a greeting upon meeting new people, and why some other countries greet with a kiss or two on the cheeks.

I stare at my hands, remembering the feeling of raw jealousy and anger I felt outside, in the corridor, when Ginny was walking behind me. Do those feelings truly come with a soulbond?

None of my friends have found their soulmate yet; I'm the first.

Draco addresses me, voice tinted with just the slightest bit of concern, and I know that he senses something is wrong but knows better than to ask now. We both know that someone is watching us; someone else, who isn't friendly.

We speak with caution, talk only about topics that aren't sensitive, and soon the train is pulling into the Hogwarts station. We scramble into our robes, silently.

When the train rumbles to a halt, Draco tells us, "You go on. I just want to check something."

I shoot him a look but he shakes his head just slightly and I turn away, ushering the rest of our group out to give him some space to act out the plan I know he's been forming in his head ever since I returned from Slughorn's party.

As we climb into the carriages drawn by black thestrals, I see a pair of bright brown eyes paired with the most perfect shade of fiery red hair, and I smile.

* * *

A/N - Quidditch League Fanfiction Contest

Season 4, Round 13, Real Randomness

Holyhead Harpies, Keeper

Prompt: Write whatever you want.

Word Count (Google Docs): 2,085

Special thanks to my amazing betas, Naism (natida) and Buttercat (Slytherin Buttercat)!

Excerpts of dialogue taken from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling.


End file.
